


so lavender is to the soul

by seren_ccd



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, friendship fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:49:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2009835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seren_ccd/pseuds/seren_ccd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“And they say that Aramis is the one with all the chivalry,” Constance said smiling.  “I do believe you could give him a run for his money.”</p>
<p>“Well, I was a Comte,” he said offering his arm to her.  “There were lessons.”</p>
<p>Constance goes to Chartres on business.  Athos accompanies her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so lavender is to the soul

**Author's Note:**

> I'll warn you, these two started talking and just wouldn't stop. I just wanted to see these two having a long talk and trying to set the world to rights while seeing the French countryside.
> 
> The title is from an anonymous saying: As rosemary is to the spirit, so is lavender to the soul.

The early morning sun cast only the palest of light as Constance hefted a trunk of completed cloaks outside to the horse and wagon she’d borrowed from her neighbor. She set the trunk down and did her best not to sigh from the strain in her arms…or the strain in her heart.

It had been three weeks since she’d sent d’Artagnan away and she was no closer to accepting her life without him near than she’d been before everything had gone so wrong.

Three weeks of suppressed sighs and suppressed emotions, but it had to be done.

Sighing didn’t get the chores done or get the bills paid.

She breathed in deeply and headed back inside to get the other box of goods. Lord, she hoped this melancholy would leave her soon. She didn’t have time for regrets, no matter how painful they were.

When she returned with the next trunk, a Musketeer was propped up against the side of the wagon, his head bowed and the brim of his hat covering his eyes. Unsurprised, she pursed her lips and set the trunk down in the wagon with a bit more force than previously. Jostled by the wagon, his head rose slowly.

“Good morning, Madame,” Athos said, eyes rimmed slightly with red, but alert enough.

“Athos,” she said nodding once. “What brings you out this early?”

“Just a morning wander,” he said.

“By way of closing time at the tavern?” she comments.

His smile was brief and perhaps slightly sheepish. “The Madame knows me well.”

“The entire city of Paris knows your drinking habits,” she said bluntly. Constance eyed Athos, noting he leant a bit to the right and said, “Perhaps you should sit down before you fall down.”

“No need,” he said, shaking his head.

“Right,” she said slowly as she continued to situate the boxes in the wagon.

“Are you going somewhere?” he asked.

“To Chartres,” she said. “I’ve deliveries to make.”

“Surely your husband has others who can make deliveries,” he commented far too lightly for Constance’s preferences.

She threw him a sidelong glance. “He does, however they are on their way to Orleans and could not be spared for as short a trip as this.”

“It will still take you into the night,” Athos said, his tone still unaffected and still managing to needle Constance’s nerves. “You should not go alone.”

“I’m hardly defenseless and the roads are known to me,” she said, her hands pulled the straps sharply to hold the trunks in place.

“Of course,” he said nodding slowly.

“I don’t need you or any of your comrades to watch over me,” she said turning to face him. “In fact, I’d appreciate it if you stopped.”

“Stopped what?” he asked finally looking over at her.

She glared. “Don’t even attempt to aim for innocent, Athos. Tell me, do they even bother to teach you Musketeers subterfuge, because you’re rubbish at it. I’ve known each time one of you is nearby. In the market, by my house, in church. Everywhere I turn, there one of you are.”

“Then we have succeeded,” he said. “We wished you to know we were there.”

“Why?” she asked turning away and shoving a box into place, shaking the wagon again and making the horse shift. “I didn’t ask for your, your - “ she made a face “ - whatever it is you’re doing.”

“You have assisted each of us at one time or another,” he said calmly. “You were taken hostage by Milady and are now most likely known to the Cardinal and we do not wish for any harm to come to you.” He paused. “Any _further_ harm to come to you.”

“Well, that’s all very well I’m sure, but stop it,” she said turning back to the wagon. “I’ve no need of it.”

“But we do,” he said softly.

Constance stopped and lowered her head, her hands limp on the side of the wagon. If he’d pushed or blustered, she could argue. She couldn’t argue with his quiet assurance of their presence. She was too tired and her day on the road already loomed long and dusty in front of her.

“You Musketeers and your honor,” she said rolling her eyes.

“It’s a burden you will have to endure, I’m afraid,” he said dryly.

“A burden, indeed,” she said stepping back from the wagon. “All right, then. Who’s going to be following me all the way to Chartres?”

“It appears that I am your servant, Madame,” he said sweeping into a bow, the only tell of his less than sober state was the slow blink he made upon straightening.

“God help me,” she said. “Well, go and get that horse of yours and try to keep up. I’m not waiting around for that hard head of yours to get sober.”

She stepped around him and headed back to her house. After grabbing her cloak and her basket, she went back to the wagon. Athos wasn’t there but she had no doubt he would catch up with her on the edge of Paris. She settled onto seat and guided the horse through the streets.

Sure enough, he caught up with her just as she reached the road out of Paris leading to Chartres. Her only acknowledgment of his presence was a quick glance in his direction, which he returned with a brief nod.

They spent the first hour on the road in silence as he was clearly nursing a sore head and Constance simply relished breathing in the country air. She’s a woman of the city, through and through. It’s where she was born and she loves it, all of its flaws and grimness. But there is something cleansing about being away from the buildings and the people and some of the weight of the last several weeks lessened.

Eventually, Athos broke the silence. “He thinks of you.”

Constance’s hands tightened on the reins and she said, “I think of him.”

They fell silent again but Constance got the impression that Athos was leading up to something for he began to fidget.

He never fidgeted.

She decided to put him out of his misery.

“Athos, you do know that I think very highly of your skills as a Musketeer and respect you greatly, don’t you?” she asked.

“I suppose I do now,” he said glancing at her.

“Then I hope you won’t be offended when I say that I’m not sure if you’re the best person to be doling out advice on relationships,” she told him.   “So please, don’t say whatever it is you’re building up to say.”

The corners of his mouth turned up. “Point taken, Madame Bonacieux, and thank you for sparing us both what would no doubt be a dreadful attempt at a conversation.”

“You’re very welcome,” she said laughing. “And I meant what I said before. You lot can stop following me around.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be happening,” he said. “Not just because of the danger we believe you to still be in, but because I think Porthos and Aramis would honestly be saddened to not bear witness to your methods of shopping.”

“I beg your pardon?” she asked turning to him with wide eyes.

“Porthos was most entertained last week by your exchange with the fishmonger,” Athos said. “He couldn’t stop laughing all afternoon. Something involving a mackerel?”

Constance’s cheeks flushed as she said, “That man has been overcharging for his fish for years now and I finally figured he was doing it by hiding weights in the fish’s stomachs as he weighed them, then taking them out before handing them over. Well, I was too fast for him and found the weight and did what anyone would do when faced with a bad fish.”

“You threw it back?” he asked arching an eyebrow.

“Indeed I did,” she said smugly.

“I hear the crowds were appreciative, as well,” he said chuckling.

“It’ll be some time before he thinks twice about overcharging,” she said grinning.

“Porthos was impressed by your aim,” he said. “I believe the phrase was ‘that fish hit him right between his beady eyes’.”

Constance sniffed and sat up straight. “He should have ducked.”

Athos shook his head but continued to grin. “He should have known better than to swindle you. I’ve seen you with a blade and a firearm; I’d hate to see what damage you could wreak with an armful of fish.”

The grin slipped from her face. It had been some time since she’d been able to practice her meager fighting skills. She suspected it would be a while before she ever lifted a blade or loaded a pistol again.

“Yes, well,” she said briskly, snapping the reins to get the horse moving faster. “That’s in the past, isn’t it? I’ll not be needing to wreak any damage anytime soon.”

Athos smoothly matched his horse’s speed to the wagon and said, “Not if you don’t wish to.”

“It’s not about wishing to,” she said unable to mask the bitterness in her voice. “It’s not an appropriate activity for a respectable, married woman such as myself.”

“Of course,” he said mildly. “I wouldn’t dare imply otherwise.”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Are you mocking me?”

“Never,” he said meeting her eyes. “I only know that you showed great promise and skill and I’m…sorry that you cannot participate in an activity that brought you…satisfaction and fulfillment.”

Constance became quickly aware that they were no longer solely speaking of her fighting practice.

“It’s not that I don’t wish to…learn more,” she said carefully. “I simply can’t. It could cause too much pain to too many people.” She lifted her chin and refocused on the road ahead of her. “I’ll soon get over it.”

“Time, as they say, is supposed to be a great healer,” Athos said, but Constance could hear the thinly veiled sarcasm in his voice.

“I don’t know that time will help me,” she said flatly. “I feel as though time is this great prison looming ahead of me.”

She bit her lip and felt ashamed of herself for revealing far too much.

Athos stared at the road ahead of them and didn’t say anything.

They rode in silence once again for another league.

“I wish for you to have everything that you desire,” he said eventually, his voice pitched so low she almost missed it over the sound of the wagon wheels turning over the ground.

“A pretty sentiment,” she said not unkindly. “I don’t know that all I desire is all that good for me. Love and all it entails.” She laughed a little harshly. “Do you know that I’m not sure if I honestly believe in it anymore? Was any of it even real? Maybe it was just the thrill of something different. Perhaps I was just acting like some child with a new toy.”

“You don’t mean that,” he said.

“Don’t I?” she replied. “Athos, after everything you went through with… _her_ , do you still believe in love? Truly?”

“Yes, I do,” he said easily. “Because I had it. I was in it. It was love. It destroyed many people in the end, but I have no doubt that it was love.”

“Was?” she repeated glancing at him.

“Was. Is. Always will be.” He shrugged. “My tenses get muddled on occasion.”

“Well, for all our sakes, but mostly for yours, I do hope you find some peace,” she said.

“A pretty sentiment that I cannot also wish for you?” he asked.

Constance opened her mouth to protest and then stopped. She chuckled. “Well, as you Musketeers might say - touché.”

He touched the brim of his hat and bowed slightly.

She chuckled again.

They continued on towards Chartres, passing only a few others on the road and speaking of nothing in particular. They stopped once to let their horses drink from a stream near the road while they drank from their own waterskins.

Back on the road, they fell into a comfortable silence and Constance watched the scenery pass. She breathed in deeply when they passed a field of lavender and she allowed the gentle scent to calm her uneasy mind.

They arrived in Chartres mid-afternoon. Constance steered the wagon straight for the cathedral and peered up at the two wildly different spires. Her eyes traced the curves and lines of the stone and marveled at what man could do when he put a mind to it.

She got out of the wagon to find Athos already removing the boxes of cloaks and fabric from the back.

Hands on her hips, she said, “You don’t have to do that.”

He didn’t reply, just gave her a look that clearly stated that she wasn’t to argue. Rolling her eyes, she went into the back entrance of the cathedral to find her contact.

Half an hour later, the cloaks were handed over and Constance had her money. She tucked it into a pocket sewn into her bodice. Athos raised an eyebrow at the sight but said nothing.

She looked up at the sky and squinted. “We can make it back to Paris late tonight if we hurry.”

“Or we can let our horses rest, have some food, and make it back by mid-morning,” Athos said. “There’s a tavern.”

She threw him a glance and he lifted a shoulder. “I didn’t have any breakfast. Someone was keen to get on the road.”

“Fine,” she said rolling her eyes. “I could eat something.”

As they headed around the cathedral towards the wagon, the doors opened and a wedding procession spilled out onto the path. Constance stopped to let the line of people pass, Athos at her side. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the bride who looked far too young to be married, but Constance remembered how young she herself had looked on her own wedding day and something clenched in her stomach.

The bride clutched at the groom’s arm, but her eyes were wide and startled as they searched the crowd. Constance saw an older woman give the bride a nod that must have been meant to be reassuring, and the young bride returned it with a shaky attempt at a smile.

Constance’s stomach twisted again. She would have given anything to have had her mother at her wedding. Someone who would have given her some kind of unspoken reassurance that what she was doing would turn out all right in the end. Even if it was a lie, it still would have been nice to have had that strength. Instead, all she’d had was her father looking relieved as he’d handed her over to Bonacieux.  

Although, Constance had been so bloody _sure_ of herself, she wasn’t sure if she would have accepted anyone else’s reassurances.

God, she’d been so young.

The bride in front of her looked cautiously up at the groom and he looked down at her with a smile that seemed patient and kind and Constance spared a second to wish them well.

“Oi! Phillipe! You finally have someone to warm that bed of yours, eh!” a man in the crowd bellowed.

The crowd laughed, while the bride looked stricken. Constance stiffened so quickly, her jaws ached with tension.

The tension eased only slightly when she felt Athos’ hand gently cup her elbow. She glanced up at him, but he was glaring at the boisterous man.

The procession continued on towards the tavern and after a few more minutes, they were left alone by the cathedral, petals from various bouquets littered the ground and swirled in tiny circles in the breeze.

“Shall we skip the tavern, then?” Athos said mildly.

“Yes, please,” Constance said before walking on. She stopped abruptly and stared at the wagon. The weight of the money, her _husband’s_ money, in her bodice was a lodestone around her neck. Athos walked to her side, but turned to stare up at the cathedral.

“We’re meant to fit into these roles, aren’t we?” she said under her breath. “To just slot in and fit and there we stay for all eternity. No man ever putting it asunder.”

“I hear it does some people some good, knowing their place in the world, being certain of what they’re meant to do,” Athos commented lightly as though he was remarking on the weather. “But on the whole, it can be a highly restrictive practice.”  

“Confining,” Constance added.

“Painful.”

“Tedious.”

“Excruciating.”

“Torturous,” Constance replied, starting to grin despite herself.

“Heinous,” he added, his lips twitching.

“Suffocating.”

“Boring.”

Constance paused as her grin slipped. “Dutiful?”

He nodded. “That, too.”

“Are we not meant for more, though?” she asked whirling away from the wagon. “We’re capable. I have two hands and a heart and a mind and I can do things with them.”

She closed her eyes and finally, _finally_ let all the frustrations she’d been feeling for the last three weeks and, if she was honest with herself, what she’d been feeling for years wash over her. Her hands tightened into fists.

“I don’t like being disloyal,” she said. “I hate lying. I hate that I’ve betrayed a trust, a vow. But I also know that I have wants that are not unreasonable and I believe deep, deep down that I cannot be wrong for wanting more. For wanting to _be_ more. What is this feeling I have?”

She opened her eyes and stared up at the cathedral. Athos came to stand beside her.

“Some would call it heresy,” he said almost matter-of-factly. “The desire to rise above the station you were born into.”

"Or to sink below it?” she asked him dryly. The corner of his mouth rose. “What do you call this feeling, Comte de la Fère?”

“Natural,” he said firmly. “It’s always been there, hasn’t it? Been a part of you? You have heart and passion, Constance. There shouldn’t be anything wrong with that.”

“Shouldn’t?” she repeated.

He lifted a shoulder. “Ours is not always a world that rewards passion.”

“Believe me, I’m well aware,” she said. She shook her head. “I thought I’d grow out of it.”

“So did I,” he said. “We are not easy people, Constance. We tend to expect much of people and when they disappoint us-“

“We suffer for it,” she filled in sadly. “Which, really, is our fault, not theirs.”

“Well, sometimes it’s their fault,” he said resting his hands on the hilt of his sword.

Constance remembered Milady holding a pistol to her head and the sharpness in Bonacieux’s tone when he told her to deny d’Artagnan.

“Sometimes it most definitely is their fault,” she muttered. She turned to him. “There’s nothing to be done is there?”

“There is always something to be done,” he said looking at her, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his eyes. “It just isn’t easy neither is it without consequence.” He stepped closer. “But know this, you have friends, Constance. Friends that would help you. Even if you don’t ask for it.”

She felt her mouth into a smile and she placed her hand on his arm and lifted up to kiss his cheek. He looked startled when she leaned back.

“And they say that Aramis is the one with all the chivalry,” she said smiling. “I do believe you could give him a run for his money.”

“Well, I was a Comte,” he said offering his arm to her. “There were lessons.”

Laughing, she slipped her arm through the crook of his elbow and they walked to the wagon.

“But truly, you’re being very gallant,” she said as he handed her into the wagon. “I’ve done nothing but complain all day and you’ve done nothing but humor me.”

“You haven’t been complaining,” he said. She arched an eyebrow at him and he smiled. “Fine, you’ve been complaining, but it’s nothing compared to Aramis when he hasn’t been able to bathe in days or Porthos when he’s hungry.”

“Speaking of,” she said. “Let’s just get something from the market in town and then may we push on back?”

“Of course,” he said. “However, I’m afraid I’m going to insist we not travel in the dark. I don’t want to risk the horses injuring themselves.”

“Fine,” Constance said, although she knew she’d have to face Bonacieux’s questions when she returned. But even he shouldn’t be able to argue too heavily against not injuring the horses.

They purchased some bread and dried meat, along with a bottle of wine from the market and then head back to the road. Constance ate an apple as they left Chartres and thought about what Athos had said.

It appeared she had a choice in front of her. A difficult one. One she’d very much have to think about.

But not yet. She’d enjoy being away from the city and being in the company of someone that inexplicably she felt rather comfortable with.

She grinned. “Do you remember when I first met you?”

“I remember being slightly in awe of this tiny woman who wouldn’t let me finish my drink and forced me into the market to deal with a thief,” he said, before drinking from his waterskin. “I remember a small, delicate hand that somehow managed to drag me out of the tavern and throw me in the direction of three men who had just robbed a little old woman in the square.” He looked at her askance. “I also remember the split lip and the black eye they gave me for my trouble.”

“I remember a Musketeer doing his duty and dispatching those thugs with a few waves of his sword,” Constance said with a laugh. “How drunk were you?”

He shrugged. “Fighting drunk isn’t the challenge. It’s fighting with a sore head where you have to maintain a very delicate balance between moving your head too quickly, and yet still keeping an eye on your opponent. Give me a good drunken brawl any day.”

“Why the Musketeers?” she asked, maneuvering the wagon around a nasty rut in the road. “You had money, you could have done anything.”

“I was good at it,” he said. “And I was very angry. I wanted to punish people and myself for doing what I did.” He adjusted his hat. “It worked out far better than I expected to be honest.”

“I take it you weren’t the beacon of calm that you are now?” she said smirking.

“No,” he said with a laugh. “No, I was not. I through myself into every brawl I could. Faced down far too many men at once. Stood in the way of every single madman that came across my path.”

“You still do that,” she pointed out.

“Yes, but now I do it with skill,” he said, with an incline of his head.

They rode on until nightfall. Constance judged that they had to be near one of the lavender fields for the scent was gentle on the breeze that blew softly through the trees. Athos guided them off the road just enough to not attract anyone. Constance helped him unhook the horse from the wagon so it could graze.

A short while later, after Athos had a small fire built and it was crackling cheerfully, Constance sat down and leant against the wagon wheel, hungrily eating the cheese, bread and dried meat they’d bought.

Athos passed her the bottle of wine. “I apologise for the lack of glasses,” he said.

She took the bottle and took a long drink from it. “I’m from common stock, Athos,” she told him. “I don’t need a glass.”

She took another drink and wiped at her chin when a small trickle of wine slipped out of the corner of her mouth, all the while she felt his eyes on her.

“Why did you marry him?” he asked quietly.

“Didn’t have much choice in the matter,” she said matter-of-factly after only the slightest of hesitations. “It was a better match than I could have expected.   Bonacieux needed someone smart enough and capable and he liked the look of me. And I didn’t mind, if I’m honest. I wanted to be on my own with my own house to mind.” She looked up at the stars. “And he was…kind, in his own way. A bit distracted and foolish, but he gave me almost full reign over the house and involved me in his business, which is far more than most women get.”

“But,” Athos prompted.

“But…” She trailed off. “He promised me he’d take me travelling. That I’d get to join him on his business trips. It was everything I’d always wanted; to see the world and all of its beauty; to see beyond the Paris walls.” She looked at Athos and he stared back at her solemnly. “This is as far as we got. Chartres. He took me to Chartres. That’s all.”

Athos nodded. “You were disappointed.”

“It sounds so childish,” she said as she scrunched up her nose. “He didn’t do anything that men haven’t been doing to women for years. He promised me he’d show me the world and never did. I’m hardly the first woman to be disappointed in her marriage.”

She winced as she remembered who she was speaking to. “I’m sorry. It’s not just women who are disappointed, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” he said holding out a hand and she passed him the wine bottle. “But, I’ve come to realize that men almost always hold the upper hand. You’re within your rights to feel bitter, Constance.”

“But that’s just it,” she said helplessly. “I don’t want to feel bitter. I want to _do_ something, only I don’t know what.”

She stared into the fire. Then held out her hand. “Pass me the wine.”

“That’s not the answer,” he said amused and handing over the bottle.

“I’m quite capable of keeping my head,” she said before drinking from the bottle.

“I have no doubt of that,” he said.

She looked at him and studied him, then asked, “Why did you marry her?”

“I suppose I had that question coming,” he said under his breath. He chuckled and shook his head, then looked up at her. “I’ve already told you why, Madame Bonacieux.”

“You loved her,” she said and suddenly Constance felt very old and very weary. “I think I might envy you a little, Athos.”

“In that case, you should hand that bottle over, for you really, really wouldn’t feel envious if you were completely sober,” he said.

“I’m as sober as a nun,” she said, but she handed the bottle to him.

She leant her head back and stared up at the stars. The activities of the day, the sound of the fire merrily burning and her full stomach caught up to her and her eyelids began to droop.

Her head jerked up when Athos prodded the fire, her eyes going to his instantly. He merely smiled and shook his head.

“Sleep,” he said. “I’ll make sure we’re up before dawn.”

She nodded and yawned, moving to lie on her side, pillowing her head on her arms. “Good night, Athos.”

“Good night, Constance,” he said, his voice low and comforting in the dark.

She stirred briefly later in the night when a warm cloak was draped over her form. But she just smiled and burrowed under the warm fabric.

Constance woke fully when a hand squeezed her shoulder firmly but gently and a voice said, “Come and see the sunrise, Constance.”

She blinked up at Athos and he nodded his head towards the road. “Come and see,” he repeated.

She frowned as she blinked the sleep away from her eyes and she stumbled a little as she pulled Athos’ cloak around her to ward off the early morning chill. He stood on the other side of the road, his hand on the hilt of his sword and he looked at something. She joined him and sucked in a breath at the sight in front of her.

The sun was only beginning to rise and the night mist still lingered over the valley just below them. A deep orange light was just touching the tips of the rows of lavender and the light danced off the dew on the light purple petals. The scent Constance had smelled the night before was even stronger and she almost reached her hand out to try to capture some of the light that steadily crept across the field below.

“You said you wished to see the world and all its beauty,” Athos murmured.

“So I did,” she said quietly.

They gazed out at the field below them as the sunlight made a slow promenade across the lavender as the fronds rippled in slow, steady waves. Constance slipped her arm through the crook of Athos’ elbow and rested her head against his shoulder.

“Thank you for accompanying me,” she said quietly.

His head turned and his breath teased the top of her head as he said, “It was my genuine pleasure.”

They stood and watched the sun rise. Constance knew that once the sun was in the sky that everything wrong in her life would remain unsolved and she’d get back in her wagon and go back to Paris and do her best to figure out how to live a life that was _hers_ and hers alone and whatever she chose was going to hurt and it was going to be hard because that was life. But for now…

She could watch the sun rise.


End file.
